Everything's Okay
by akitokihojo
Summary: "And if there was one thing a person could ever wish to control, it was that. Screw shutting the world down, and preventing an onslaught of more needless turmoil. Being able to tell yourself that everything's okay and you aren't as worthless as you currently feel, and then actually believing it would be the true superpower to behold."


Sometimes, it was hard to be okay. Stresses weigh you down, your mind goes into overdrive, cruel thoughts break through whatever barrier you had standing, and everything seems just a little too bleak to trudge through. It would be better if you could just shut the world down for a while; quiet the nonsense, stop time, prevent everything that threatened to contribute to the lowness you already felt. If only. Getting a grip over toxic thinking was difficult enough, even for the healthy-minded. How could a single person halt the universe just for a moment's worth of peace?

Aside from the loud ticking of the clock on the wall, the apartment was silent. His car wasn't parked in its designated spot, so she must have beat him home from work. Usually, she would spend the time getting comfortable and starting dinner, but the longer she stood in the entryway, the thicker and stiffer the air became. It was like the abnormal sensations of her cramped mind were overflowing throughout their home, and nothing in the world could keep her busy enough to stop it from running free. Was this her breaking point? It couldn't be, she'd handled much more than this before without throwing in the towel. Then, there were occasions where it seemed she'd balanced even less and she snapped. Where was her median?

There was a hollowness in the cavity of her chest, leaving her feeling like if she swallowed a marble right then and there, she'd feel it scale down her ribcage. It was weird. It was foreign. If she moved, maybe she could leave the empty hole at the door, so she waded through the sludge of the room, skipping the option to change out of her work clothes because the task seemed too difficult at the moment, and pushed through to the kitchen to see if cooking would make her feel a little better. If she didn't get started, it may be the queue that something was wrong, and the last thing she wanted was to tip Inuyasha off. He didn't need to worry about anything other than the full plate he was already juggling. She could handle this. The feeling would fade. Hopefully another good night's sleep would finally do the trick.

But then she just ended up standing in front of the open fridge, the cold air wafting over her bare legs. Focusing was growing harder and harder as she pulled herself inward to prevent herself from crumbling. There was nothing in the fridge that seemed appetizing to whip up. She wasn't hungry. She'd had about a half a bottle of water all day. Spaghetti was easy enough, but shutting the fridge and moving to the cupboards was a chore on its own.

Why? She was home. This was where she was supposed to feel safe and warm and _better._ Instead, she was progressively getting worse, her fingers trembling, her eyes growing blurry as she blinked away the tears that burned behind her lids. It was all she could do to take out a package of noodles, a can of sauce, and put a pot of water on to boil. She found herself lifting her bottom to sit on the counter opposite the stove, her lungs no longer allowing full and deep breaths of air, her chin crinkling, her lids overflowing, her nose sniffling and a huff leaving her lips as she cursed herself for caving to nothing. It was nothing. And yet it felt like everything was against her. Her brain threw unheard insults at her, piercing her through because they were so, so believable. Her heart ached like it was empty and broken. All rational thought was out the window, and she was the victim of her own sorrowful negativity.

And if there was one thing a person could ever wish to control, it was that. Screw shutting the world down, and preventing an onslaught of more needless turmoil. Being able to tell yourself that everything's okay and you aren't as worthless as you currently feel, and then _actually _believing it would be the true superpower to behold.

He'd seen her car, smelled her fresh scent leading up the hall and to their door. She hadn't been fully herself lately. He'd noticed the shimmer in her deep, brown eyes dull and grow lackluster. It was hard to determine on his own, but he assumed the long week wore on her. A long week she hadn't really vented about, but he could visibly see the toll it was taking. For the most part, he'd stayed out of her way. He didn't want to say something wrong and spark an argument, and he definitely didn't want to push her into talking if she wasn't ready to open up. She was normally very talkative, but sometimes - rarely, but sometimes - she shut down. Who was he, of all people, to tell her that was the wrong way to go about things? It was uncommon, and it was truly rough to see her the way she'd been, and he could always tell when she was swallowing her feelings for the sake of anyone around her. Each day since he noticed her melancholic shift, he'd hoped she'd recovered from whatever was exhausting her, but no such luck. She was feigning her relief. She was holding back.

He walked through the door, the soft hiss of the fire burning mildly on the stove welcoming him in. "I'm home."

No answer other than the clock giving a loud tick.

"Babe?" He walked through the living room, following his nose, curving around the arched wall where he spotted her sitting on the counter in the kitchen. Her back was slightly hunched, defeat artistically splaying over the weakness in her muscles. Her cheeks were brushed red, eyes puffy, smile warm but forced. She'd been crying. "Kagome."

Just the concern in his tone had her chipping away, little-by-little, like a sculpture being molded but the artist was hammering too aggressively for smooth beauty. It was almost as bad as being asked, "Are you okay?" Because everyone could attest that that one question was powerful enough to bring the mightiest being to their knees to cry. Her lips fell into a deep frown, and her chin quivered, and she couldn't talk because the rock in her throat was too hard to swallow, but she communicated to him by holding her arms out.

And immediately, Inuyasha dropped everything in his hands and closed the gap between them. Her legs opened so he could press perfectly against her and he took her in his arms, wrapping her in the most tight and comforting hug he could conjure. She shook in his hold, her entire body quaking against him, almost bringing him to sway, himself. Her pain was his pain. Her tears were his downfall. Small fingers gripped the shirt over his back, sobs and gasps breaking through her clenched throat, and the liquid soaking his shoulder seared like boiling water being poured over that singular spot. His thoughts raced as he desperately tried to figure out what plagued her. Stress? Quarrels? Illness? Bad news?

"What happened?" He softly asked, kissing her hair. Kagome shook her head, firming her grasp and sniffling heartbreakingly. "Is this something I can fix?"

Again, she shook her head, crying just a little harder. Her reactions were all so uncontrollable, her body and mind aching for an ounce of relief from the invisible shelf of weight she'd been carrying. She didn't expect to fold so easily, thinking she could swallow it all in the presence of Inuyasha for the third day in a row. Yet, here she was, her upper body being completely supported by this man who loved her so much; something she could see but just couldn't feasibly wrap her head around with the dense toxicity convincing her the opposite. A beacon of light in her tunnel of nightmares. Arms warm and strong and never faltering around her unsteady frame. There wasn't a lick of irritation in his tone, even though she expected it when she couldn't give him an answer. He was so patient when she couldn't stand to be patient with herself. He was so tender when she hadn't even been able to bring herself to look in the mirror for more than five seconds at a time.

For as long as she needed, he stood there, holding her, breathing deeply to try and moderate her own lungs, only parting briefly to turn off the stove and silence the bubbling water before inching her chin up to look at him. Gently, he wiped the stains from her cheeks, new streaks taking over that he carefully smoothed away thereafter. He kissed the center of her forehead, long and lingering, wishing to convey just how much he adored her with the single gesture. He'd repeat himself as many times as needed.

"Was it me?"

Kagome shook her head fervently.

"Was it someone else?"

A mellow shake of her head.

"Are you just sad?"

She swallowed thickly, her expression of sorrow deepening as she nodded.

"About what, baby?"

And she shrugged. Surprisingly, he understood exactly what that meant. Inuyasha knew the complexities of the human mind and heart, and how it sometimes seemed like everything was as shitty as it could possibly get. No matter how hard you tried, or how positive you stayed, it was impossible to be perfectly okay all the time.

The stone cold truth was, it was perfectly okay to not be okay.

You don't always need a reason.

And believe it or not, no reason was reason enough.

Helping her down from the counter, he took her hands, both of them, and guided her towards their bedroom. She'd stopped weeping, but the tears still glided down her face. He knew that with so much stress, and hiccups, and trembling, and sadness came exhaustion and a headache straight from hell. So he got out a shirt of his own for her to don and tucked her within the heaviness of their comforter. He grabbed a glass of water, the bottle of ibuprofen, set them on the bedside table, and turned on the tv for background noise.

He refrained from asking anymore questions for the time being. He knew she wasn't hungry, and forcing food down her throat while her chest still slightly heaved would only make her sick. He'd wait her out a little while, until she calmed and stilled, and he'd order a pizza with her favorite toppings - because there was no way he was leaving her side long enough to make her a meal, himself. Absolute not. He'd have her sip her water, and if her head began to throb, the meds were inches away. And as he kicked off his shoes and crawled into bed with her, the frail woman curled into him so quickly; speaking volumes of what she wanted. To be held. To be soothed. To feel the sturdiness of someone's unfaltering support.

Inuyasha caressed back her hair before tucking himself closer so she would mold against his body, his fingers trailing in and out of her dark strands of untidy waves, up and down the arch of her spine. "You're okay." He whispered. "Everything's okay."

He felt her shudder, her breath hot against his chest.

She needed to hear that.

She'd probably been desperate to hear it.


End file.
